Lost or Just Mislaid?
by LejindaryBunny
Summary: Casper A girl is chased onto Whipstaff manor, and dies, trapping her ghost on earth. How will Casper and the Ghostly Trio react to their knew roomate? And just who is she exactly?
1. The Girl part One

Lost or Just Mislaid?  
  
By Lejindarybunny  
  
A/N: Well, um yah, this is my Casper fic, or rather the first chapter of it. There aren't a lot of them around and I had this idea so I decided to write it. It'll be novel-length when I finish it, and it is based on the 1995 Casper movie, and does not take into account anything revealed in any of the made for video sequels. It's kind of a drama, humor, romance fic. It is not likely that Cat or Dr. Harvey will show up in the fic. They might, or they might be mentioned, but no promises. So I'm really sorry if you're a big Cat/Casper fan. Yes, it has an Original Character (oh the dread!) but I promise I'm going to try my besty-bestest to keep everyone in character, and no, fear not it's definitely not Casper/Mary-sue!  
  
Please review if you read it!  
  
Chapter One- The Girl  
  
She was panting and sweating, her face contorted in fear and exhaustion, tears streaming down in her face, caught cold in the late November wind. Bright leaves, fire-like in their intensity, whipped around her face, and her brown hair flew out behind her like a banner. Behind her the man's boot-fall's pounded, heavy and eager.  
  
"Come on my lovely," he shouted at her, his voice harsh and fanatical. "We wouldn't want me to have to hurt you, would we?  
  
A fresh sob and burst of panicked speed rocked the girl. Why? Why did her bus stop have to be in the middle of nowhere? Why hadn't she said anything about the man, lurking never far from her for the past week? Why her, anyway? She wasn't pretty. She wasn't!  
  
She was running up hill now and pain in her legs was awful, her breathing coming in chokes and gasps. But she couldn't let him catch her. She couldn't. She crested the hill, still hearing the man's catcalls and jeers, but not coherently. And she saw it, up ahead, a house. A house! If only she could get to it, up that long driveway, and to the door, surely she could escape. Surely someone there could help her! They had to!  
  
In her dismay and exertion the only thing that really registered was the fact that it was a house. She didn't remember that the house in question had been empty since who knew when, and boys sometimes dared one another to break in. It was a house, and houses were where people were safe.  
  
"You can run little girl, but I'll catch you. I'll catch you and we'll have some much fun!" he laughed manically.  
  
"Please, leave me alone!!" she cried. She was closing in on the house now; the tall iron gates were thankfully open. But the man's footsteps were heavier, closer now, he was gaining. Oh god!  
  
"Stay away from me!" she screamed, stumbling up the stone stairs. Her foot caught on the top step and she nearly fell, but caught herself at the last moment, gripping the large doorknob. She rattled it, but it was locked. She pounded on the door.  
  
"Help! Help let me in please!" she screamed as the man drew closer. She banged the door with her fists and suddenly the door swung open and she fell on her stomach into the great hall of the house. The breath was knocked from her; she couldn't breath.  
  
Someone grabbed her ankle. She couldn't breath.  
  
"Hello my lovely!" he giggled, tightening his grip upon her.  
  
She screamed.  
  
"Help somebody help me please!"  
  
"There's nobody here, nobody to hear you scream."  
  
She braced her hands on the cold floor and with all her strength wrenched her foot out of his hands and leapt to her feet; running before she was even completely upright.  
  
The man too had scrabbled to his feet and was after her.  
  
"You won't get away so easily," he called.  
  
The girl's eyes darted around the expansive room, finding a huge staircase. She dashed toward it, grabbing the polished wood rail for a moment to catch her balance and then practically flying up the steps. She heard the man thumping up behind her, but he was slowing now; he must be getting tired. Thank god he was getting tired! A thrill of relief hit her as she reached the top of the long spiral stairs well ahead of him. She looked down the hall and saw that there was a large number of doors. Maybe she could hide somewhere! Maybe one even led to a back stair and she could get away. But she had to pick on quickly.  
  
She grabbed the handle of the second door on the left, flung it open, and screamed.  
  
Floating just inside the room, pearlescent, was a ghost.  
  
"Hello," it said.  
  
She didn't give herself time to come to grips with the sight, just slammed the door and and ran down the hallway until she came to one of the last doors. She opened it, and found that it seemed to be empty, and hurried inside, trying to close it noiselessly. Across the room, which was dust filled, and had probably been a bedroom at one point, was a door, most likely to a closet. She ran to it, hoping to hide there, and opened it.  
  
Out in the hallway the man reached the hall, panting but just in time to see a door at the end of the corridor close. A horrible smile curled on his thin lips. There was no where for her to run now.  
  
He was already past the first door when the ghost emerged.  
  
"Well that didn't go very well," Casper muttered to himself, then, looking up, saw the man walking intently towards the end of the hall. "Oh, ah, Hello?"  
  
The man didn't seem to hear him.  
  
"Um, hello?" the small entity asked again, floating closer to him.  
  
Again he was ignored. Something wasn't right with the man. He was talking to himself in a low, babbling voice. He put his hand on the knob of the last door and turned it.  
  
The girl stared through the door she had just opened and her heart sank. It was no closet, rather, a balcony!  
  
Behind her she heard the door from the hall open. There was no where to run. She whirled around, wide eyed and in terror.  
  
"Hello again my lovely," the man advanced on her.  
  
"Hey! Hey!" Casper shouted, sensing that something as definitely not right here, and getting in front of the man. "Leave her alone!"  
  
The man advanced on her still, right through the ghost, as though he didn't even see the spirit before him.  
  
The girl saw it though, and thought she must be going crazy. She was shaking with fear and began backing out into the open evening air of the balcony.  
  
Casper's eyes search the room frantically for something to throw. He grabbed a lamp and chucked it forcefully at the man.  
  
He dodged the lamp, and the sudden loud noise startled the girl so that she screamed and stumbled backwards, falling with her arms across the rail of the balcony.  
  
"Please please please get away from me!" she begged, trembling all the more. She felt the rail crumbling a bit behind her and she looked back. It was a long way down. It was the only direction she had to go.  
  
"No my lovely," he purred viciously. He stood before her coming all the closer, but his features were hidden beneath a dark brown hat, and collar of his jacket. He was so close to her now that she could see her own terrified reflection in his eyes, glinting from the shadow. She would not let him come any nearer. She couldn't.  
  
"Don't worry! I'll save you!" she heard the ghost saying from inside the room. Casper was looking for something else to throw, trying to think of something to do to help the girl and so he didn't see what happened next.  
  
She braced herself on the rail and pushed herself up so that she was standing on it. She wobbled slightly on the thin, creaking thing, afraid to look down, but more afraid to look at the man.  
  
"What are you doing lovely?" he cooed. "Come down from there like a good girl."  
  
"St-stay back!" she yelled. "Or I'll-"  
  
Her foot slipped a little and her eyes flew wide as she tried to regain her shaken stability.  
  
"No you wouldn't," he said, assured by the way she wove back and forth to stay on the rail. He took a step forward, bringing them less than an inch apart; he reached out to grab her.  
  
She drew no breath as she let herself fall backwards.  
  
For one single instant they seemed frozen that way, her looking up into the darkening sky, and his fingers almost grasping her shoulder.  
  
But he didn't catch it, instead getting hold of her silver necklace, snapping it.  
  
The little silver squares that adorned it sprang free from the slender coiled chain, so fragile, and scattered through the air like seven doves, lost in flight, and falling.  
  
The girl, falling through the air saw everything for a moment, the broken necklace, the man, and the house, the sky, and her home and her friends, and her school, and her mother and father, and for a moment the girl felt so free and she felt so exhilarated in the falling and the memory and the unafraidness of it all, basking.  
  
And then that moment ended.  
  
The man looked down at the girl, broken and splayed strangely on the ground like making snow angels. He turned disgusted, and he walked away.  
  
Casper, who was darting back into the room with a wooden pole saw him leaving and grinned.  
  
"Yeah, that's right!" he said. "Get out of here! Don't come back!"  
  
The man kept walking.  
  
The ghost let him go as unimportant and hurried back to the room, ready to reassure the girl.  
  
The room was strangely empty.  
  
"Hey? Hello?" he looked around for some sign of her." Miss?"  
  
The door to the balcony was still open, maybe she was out there. He drifted out, but she wasn't there.  
  
Casper looked around, and found, far below, the image of a girl painted on the green grass.  
  
He gasped. "Oh no..."  
  
*** 


	2. The Girl part Two

A/N: Thanks so, so much to everybody who reviewed last chapter! You made me so happy; I didn't think this poor story was going to get any! Your praise and interest mean a lot to me, especially since I should be writing a different story...

Sorry for how long getting this chapter out, life issues, ya know. (the good kind)

Lost or Just Mislaid?

The Girl -Part Two

The first thought Casper had, seeing the girl bent and broken on the ground, was that he had to try CPR, however two problems immediately presented themselves. One; if she were still living he would be unable to touch her, and two, she was quite obviously dead beyond resuscitation.

The young ghost knelt beside her body sadly and laid an opalescent hand on her cheek. In a moment he would begin to cry.

It was of course that moment the Ghostly Trio took to return. Cackling, whizzing about, and creating a general hullabaloo the swooped onto the grounds of Whipstaff like a flock of mad vultures.

They were dressed in Hawaiian shirts and leis, though Fatso had staunchly donned a grass skirt, and seemed to have been terrorizing someone in Florida.

Stretch twirled a shuffleboard rod in one hand. "Woo, them geriatrics sure spook easy, huh boys?"

"Yeah, good thing most of them were in diapers anyway!" Stinky replied.

A retirement home in Florida.

Casper was trying to think of some way to sneak both himself and the body away before they were noticed, when they were noticed.

"Yo Bulbhead," Stretch demanded. "What are you doing out here?"

"Oh, uh, noting," Casper straightened up and floated in front of the fresh corpse, trying desperately to convince someone (whether it was his uncles or himself) that the body was not, in fact, there at all.

It didn't quite work. (It never does in situations like that)

Stretch narrowed his eyes. "Oh yeah? Then what's that fleshie doing sleeping on my lawn?" He puffed himself up self-importantly and shoved Casper out of the way.

Stinky and Fatso hung back, staring shocked at the newly revealed corpse. It still hadn't quite registered on the senior member of the trio.

He was pointing an annoyed finger at Casper. "I thought I told you not to let any more damn fleshies in here to soil our property and-"

Fatso tapped him on the shoulder. "Uh, Stretch..."

He whipped around. "Yeah?"

"Well uh..."

Stinky came forward, "What Fatso is trying to say is, she's dead."

"What?" The senior ghost fixed his eyes on the body in the grass, realizing now that it was in fact a body, and not just a sleeping person. His mind raced to decide whether this was a worse or less-worse offence as he screeched, "What the hell?!"

All eyes were on Casper.

"Casper killed somebody," Stinky said in awe.

Fatso sniffled. "Our little boy is finally growing up." He dissolved into sobs.

"Wh-what?" Casper's hands flew up defensively. "No! I didn't kill her!"

Fatso immediately stopped blubbering. "Oh."

"Of course he didn't kill her! This is Casper we're talking about." Stretch whacked him and Stinky both in the back of the head as though he himself hadn't believed it for a second.

"Well if it wasn't Casper, then why is there a corpse in the back yard?"

"Yeah, I like lawn gnomes better," Fatso agreed.

"Cough it up Shortsheet," Stretch commanded, narrowing his eyes once again.

Casper looked sadly down at the girl, and then back up at his three uncles, noticing that at some point the festive outfits had been dismissed. He took a deep breath.

"Well, you see, I don't exactly know. I mean, I know, but she just ran in the door, and there was this guy chasing her. She seemed really upset. I was trying to figure out a way to get him out of the house, when all of a sudden I saw him leaving, and then, I came back and," Casper sighed. "And she was dead."

"Uh-huh," Stretch said, hands on his hips. "And why didn't you just _scare _him out?"

The other two nodded disapprovingly.

"I-"

"Forget it, you'll never learn. Now get this hunk of flesh off the lawn before I lose my lunch."

"What should I-"

"I don't _care_ what you do with it, just get rid of it!" he turned to the other two. "C'mon guys, I'm hungry."

"Me too," Fatso agreed.

Stinky rolled his eyes, and followed the other two inside the house.

Casper watched them go, and then looked back down at the girl, her wavy brown hair splayed around her heart shaped face. She wore a wide collared green t-shirt, and had a blue scarf tied around her waist like a belt over her jeans. She looked about seventeen or eighteen, and very fragile. Looking at her made him want to cry.

He headed to the tool shed to find a shovel.

Fatso sat on the couch was a tub of pop-corn the size of a large dog, watching a soap opera. Stretch was in a lounge chair reading Deadbeat Magazine.

"I'm bored," Stinky complained.

Stretch didn't look up. "So go do something."

Stinky looked over at the TV, upon which some bizarre murder/adultery/kidnapping plot was being painstakingly revealed. He wrinkled his nose.

"Fatso this sucks. Give me the remote."

The corpulent ghost looked horrified. "What and miss whether Jessica or Teresa is the clone?"

Stinky brooded for a moment, before tackling Fatso, spilling popcorn everywhere and grappling for the remote.

"Gimme!" he demanded, yanking it toward himself.

"No!" Fatso pulled it back.

"Yes!" (pull)

"No!" (pull)

"Mine" (pull)

"Mine" (pull)

"I'm missing Super Fighting Monster Robot Robots!" (pull)

"I'm watching Hopetown Valley!" (pull)

"It's a stupid soap opera!" (pull)

"It is not stupid!" (pull)

"They're all the same!" (pull)

"Are not!" (pull)

"Are too!" (pull)

"Are not!" (pull)

"Are too!" (pull)

"Are not!" (pull)

"Are too!" (pull)

"You spilled my popcorn!" (pull)

"You just ate!" (pull)

"I'm still hungry! (pull)

"You're always hungry!" (pull)

"Am not!" (pull)

"Are too!" (pull)

"WILL YOU TWO QUIT ACTING LIKE CHILDREN?!" Stretch screamed at the top of his lungs, eyes flashing, startling Stinky enough to make him let go of the remote just as Fatso was pulling really hard on it. The force sent the tubby spirit hurtling back through the couch to the floor.

Stinky cowered at him as Fatso climbed back up onto the couch also suitably cowed.

"Sorry," they apologized at once.

"Sheesh, giving me a fricking headache." He rubbed his temples, irritated, and went back to reading his magazine.

Stinky eyed the remote again, but decided it wasn't worth the ensuing fight. "Can I at least have it when this is over?"

"Sorry, Opera's on after this."

Stinky muttered in exasperation, and left the room. In the grand hall he grabbed a long rapier from the wall and threw a few thrusts and parries at the air, but he wasn't in the mood at the moment. He discarded it in the umbrella bin.

He floated up to the second floor, and in one of the houses dusty corridors looked out the window into the backyard. Outside he saw Casper with a shovel, throwing dirt into a hole. He must have decided to bury that dead fleshie. Stinky wasn't sure why he was bothering. It would have been just as well to throw it in the trash, and wouldn't have taken as long. It's not as if the body cared what happened to it now.

With nothing to do Stinky headed for one of the more lavish bedrooms to take a nap. Inside he noticed a broken lamp, and the door the balcony hanging open. He went over to close it, and looked out at the backyard again, guessing that the girl must have fallen from this spot. He closed the door blocking out the sunlight that had been steaming in, and collapsed, quite heavily for someone with no mass, onto the large, squeaky four-poster bed. Casper could clean up the lamp later.

Stinky pulled the covers up over himself, and grabbed the pillow, ready for a nap. Ghosts did not need to sleep, strictly speaking, but like eating, could do so if they wanted. And right now he had nothing better to do.

He was just drifting off when a small, strange noise caught his attention. At first he thought it was one of Fatso's stupid TV shows and pulled the pillow over his head. The noise got louder though, and just as he was about to sit up and yell that people were trying to sleep, he realized that the noise was coming from closer than that. It was inside the room.

Stinky got up, letting the covers fall through him and back to the bed, and he gazed around the room suspiciously. He bit his lip with buck teeth, casting around for the source of the sound.

He crept toward the balcony door, and put his ear to it. "Ahah!" he shouted and yanked the door open.

But there was nothing there, or so Stinky thought at first as he glanced around hastily. But then his eyes caught something glittering palely in the sunlight. Crouched in the corner of the balcony was a girl. A ghost. The girl. Sitting there sobbing.

He stared at her. "Ah crap."

Stinky shut the door again and stuck his head down through the floor into the livingroom. "Uh guys," he said, looking down at Fatso and Stretch. "You might wanna come and have a look at this."

...To be continued....

Again, thanks for all the reviews and support. I have the internet at home now, so expect more, more often. And check for Lost Or Just Mislaid artwork!


	3. Uninvited Ghosts

Lost or Just Mislaid?

Chapter 3: Uninvited Ghosts

Stretch and Fatso stared up at their brother, whose head was poking down from the ceiling.

"Yeah, what?" the tall ghost demanded, looking up over his magazine.

"There's uh, there's a girl up stairs," Stinkie explained. Stretch was already ticked off, and the younger ghost didn't want to stir his temper any more. Not that it could probably be avoided. What a hot-head.

Stretch rolled his eyes. "So scare her out. What are you, stupid?"

"Yeah, little problem there, Stretch. She ain't a fleshie," he wasn't sure whether or not it was an appropriate time to bring up the fact that it looked like it was the dead girl they'd come home to.

"_WHAT?!" _Stretch demanded, tossing his magazine aside, and flying up through the ceiling. He grabbed his brother by the shoulder and pulled him out of the floor. "What are you talkin' about?"

Stinkie pointed to the balcony. "Out there."

Fatso considered what he was watching, and weighed it against the possible entertainment value of following his brothers. "Meh," he shrugged, switching off the TV, and following the two quickly upstairs.

Stinkie opened the balcony door, and gestured inside, to the girl who sat there, crying softly. She hadn't moved from where he'd left her, huddled up in the corner in a pitiful ball.

"Oh for the love a- You have _got_ to be kidding me," Stretch complained.

000

She didn't know where she was, or what she was doing there, or even who she was. All she knew was the weight of an inexplicable misery and loss, pressing in on her. Even he golden afternoon sunlight seemed to do nothing to warm her.

She felt cold, and alone, and frightened. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Suddenly she heard voices.

"Hey, hey… you," a sharp voice snapped, "What are you doing here, huh?"

She looked up to see three opalescent figures hovering before her. Her eyes widened. "Who, who are you?" she whispered. Something told her this was not a normal state of affairs.

"The proprietors of this property," the tallest figure informed her brusquely, "So, do you wanna answer my question and say what you're doing on our haunting grounds?"

This brought forth a fresh wave of sobs from the girl. She didn't know why she was here. She had no idea, no clue. It was like that moment when you wake up in an unfamiliar place, only, the moment was dragging on for too long. So long that it was genuinely frightening. She kept expecting to remember… something.

The Trio looked at one another. Stretch was irritated by the lack of a prompt response, and by the girl's hysterics. "This is just stupid. Stinkie, you found her, _you_ talk to her."

"Hey! What do you want me to do? She ain't my responsibility!" he protested, crossing his arms.

"Well if she don't stop bawling in a second, I'm gonna go nuts!"

"Yeah, well blame Casper, not me! The bulbhead's the one who let her die here!"

"What?" the tall spirit demanded, his attention caught. "You mean to tell me this wailing waif is all Casper's fault?!"

The girl looked up at the address, frowning, the tearstains shining on her cheeks. She sniffled. "Hey!"

Stretch looked down his nose at her. "Oh, now you wanna talk?"

"I don't appreciate being called a waif," she said quietly.

"Oh yeah? Well I don't appreciate you turnin' up, and interruptin' my evening."

"Yeah, I'm missing Oprah," Fatso complained.

She looked down sniffling. "If I knew what was going on, maybe I could leave you be."

"You're dead," Stretch explained simply.

"I'm what?" she squeaked, looking up sharply, disbelief painted on her face. That had to be some kind of sick joke.

Fatso adjusted a small pair of gold spectacles on his nose, and read from a dictionary, "Dead, adjective. 1 deprived of life: having died."

"But…if I'm dead, why am I still here? Dead means…" she spoke hesitantly. "Dead means you don't exist. Don't speak, or move…or feel…."

"I got this one," Stinkie said, wrenching the dictionary from Fatso's hand. He'd been standing there, watching the little drama unfold, and as often happened, had been pretty much unnoticed in the shadow of his compatriot's forceful personalities.

"Hey!" Fatso complained, trying to grab the book back. It threatened to become another remote-control type tug of war.

"Stop whining," Stretch growled, and knocked Fatso over the back of the head.

"Ehem," Stinkie began, ignoring Fatso's glares. He flipped several pages and read, "Ghost; noun. A disembodied soul; especially the soul of a dead person believed to be an inhabitant of the unseen world or to appear to the living in bodily likeness." He looked down at the girl. "Gee, I don't see anyone around who fits that description, huh?"

"See _through_'s more like it," Fatso joked.

The baffled girl stared at them. A ghost? They were trying to tell her that she was dead, and a ghost. This wasn't happening. Ghosts, first of all, did not exist.

'Then what are you looking at now?' she demanded of herself. 'Transparent people who float? And what about you?'

She stared down at her hands, and all the way through to the decrepit floor she sat upon. Her fingers…weren't there. All she was, was some kind of shadow, a trick of the light. She felt completely lost and alone, and her three jocular greeters certainly weren't doing anything to assuage those feelings. She felt her quelled tears threatening to begin over.

"Looks like she's finally getting the picture," Stretch observed.

"Musta been a Polaroid," Fatso chortled.

The three all laughed.

"Oh, you three are so funny," she sniped. "But you're just mean."

"Yeah, Fatso, quit harassin' the newbie, "Stretch said.

"Aw, I didn't mean it."

"How could ya be so insensitive?" Stinkie joined in.

they may have been reneging on their insults, but she could tell they were just making fun of her still. "I'm leaving," she said, getting up." It was a strange feeling, to stand, without actually standing on anything. The girl found herself hovering about a foot above the floor, feeling rather dizzy. Movement, it seemed, was more a matter of intetion in this state, than it was alive. She floated forward, and began to brush past them.

The Ghostly Trio shred a look, and then immediately blocked her way. After all, it wasn't every day that a pretty new ghoul turned up at Whipstaff.

"Hold it, hold it," Stretch insisted. "Please forgive my cohorts' lack of hospitality."

She looked at him dubiously. He certainly didn't take any responsibility for being the worst of the bunch.

"Why? Sorry, I'm going."

"But we haven't even introduced ourselves," Stinkie said, blocking her, as she turned to move around him. She obviously hadn't gotten the idea yet, that she could just go through the floor if she wanted, or over the balcony.

"Come on, give us one more chance," Fatso pleaded, three quarters-seriously

She crossed her arms. "Okay, fine…"

"Call me Stretch," the tallest said with a grin, and a wiggle of his eyebrow.

""Fatso," said the heavyset one, shaking her hand emphatically

"Stinkie, at yer service," the third ghost said, bowing mockingly, and smirking.

"Together, we're the Ghostly Trio," Stretch finished.

She eyed them, trying to figure out what to make of the three. "The Ghostly Trio? Are you a band or something?"

"Occasionally," Stinkie replied.

"We," Stretch said with a flourish, "are professional Scare Artists."

"Scare artists?" the girl raised an eyebrow.

"The best in our field," Stinkie informed with a proud, buck-toothed grin.

"We tend to frighten off the competition," quipped Fatso.

The girl couldn't help a small laugh at that, and began to wipe off the tears that had started to dry on her face. "And what does a 'scare artist' do?"

"Frighten fleshies, of course," Stretch explained.

"Keeps 'em on their toes," Stinkie added.

"Fleshies?" she pursed her lips at the crass sounding term.

"Bone bags, skin sacks, meat men…" the tall ghost enumerated.

She was fairly sure he could go on like that for minutes, if not hours, but she got the picture, and interrupted him. "You mean living people?"

"Yeah, them."

"Is that what all ghosts do?" She looked up, just in time to see another figure coming towards them. A small, childlike ghost.

"Hi guys," he said, "I finished burying-" Casper suddenly noticed the female ghost he'd never seen before. "Oh! Hi!" he greeted cheerfully.

The Trio rolled their eyes as one.

"Welcome baaaack, Casper," stretch greeted sarcastically. "Late as usual I see."

"I didn't know we were having company…"

""Neither did we," Fatso said.

"Does she look familiar to you, bulbhead?" Stretch inquired sharply.

"No I don't think s-" Casper looked at her, and his face fell. "Oh no."

She stared at him, wondering what was going on. "Huh?" Confusion was setting in on her again. She looked back at the Trio, who seemed both amused, and pissed off at the small sprit.

"I'm sorry," Casper said quietly.

"Sorry for what?"

"Well," Stretch egged on nastily, "Why dontcha tell her, short sheet?"

"I was there when you died," Casper amitted painfully. "I couldn't…do anything."

"Oh…" she looked at him, and slumped against the wall of the house. Immediately there was an odd sensation as she began to slip back through the wall. "Eep!" her eyes widened, and she struggled, pulling herself out.

"Are you alright?" casper asked, offering his hand.

"I'm fine," she breathed, rubbing her shoulder. It felt oddly tingly.

"No thanks to you," Fatso muttered.

She ignored him. "It wasn't your fault. …Was it?"

Casper was taken aback. Usually it took years for the memories to fade. Maybe it was because her death had been so violent, that already she was forcing herself not to remember. "I tried to help."

"What happened?"

"You fell from this balcony. Somebody was chasing you."

She looked down to the ground, the distance was hardly dizzying. A fall from only wo stories had killed her? "When was that?'

"Oh, like an hour ago," Stretch interjected.

Her mind reeled. An hour ago? An hour ago she had been alive? And yet she was completely out of touch with her life. She didn't even have the faintest inkling of who she had been. Of who she was for that matter.

She closed her eyes, and leaned, more effectively this time, against the wall. "What am I going to do?"

To be continued…


	4. Welcome to Whipstaff

Lost or Just Mislaid?

Chapter 4: Welcome to Whipstaff

Casper looked at the poor, newly minted ghost. Her death hadn't been his fault, but he still felt responsible. She was all alone in the world now, with no where to go. His uncles had better not even think about making her leave Whipstaff.

"You can stay here," Casper offered in a consoling tone. He looked over his shoulder at the Trio and said much less certainly. "Uh, right, guys?"

Stretch narrowed his eyes. "Well, despite the fact that you got no right to be offerin' out invitations, short sheet, yeah. She can hang around. For a while at least."

Inwardly Casper grinned. Much as he regretted her death, he couldn't help but feel that it would be nice to have some company around the manor that _wasn't_ his uncles. He smiled at her. "See, everything's going to be okay."

She looked dubiously at the lot of them, wondering what sort of mess she was entangled in, and if she might be better off just striking out on her own. She didn't voice these concerns however. "Yeah," she agreed. "Sure."

Watching from the background, Fatso commented. "She sure seems down, don't she?"

Stinkie nodded. "Post-mortem depression," he explained wryly, and looked over at the as yet unidentified girl. "So, uh, what's your name, huh?"

She opened her mouth as if to speak, and then closed it again. "I…" she furrowed her brow, and held her arms protectively around her waist. "I don't know," she said in amazement. How could someone forget their own _name_? "I-I'm completely baffled."

Stretch smirked and exchanged a glance with his brothers. "Baffle, huh? Nice ta meetcha." He stuck out his hand.

She was taken aback by this gesture. Stretch had thought that was her name? No, that wasn't right. He had _decided_ that it was her name. And already it seemed that around here, what Stretch said, went. Besides, as names went, Baffle had kind of a pleasant ring to it, and she couldn't really think of anything better at the moment. So, Baffle she would be.

She shook his hand. "Nice to meet you," she agreed.

Stretch grinned back at Stinkie and Fatso. "Boys, meet Baffle."

They waved back enthusiastically.

Casper sighed. So they had stuck her with a silly nickname, a sort of initiation ritual Casper had thankfully missed, or perhaps, been excluded from. Well. It wasn't as bad as it could have been. Baffle was a nice name. She could have ended up something really weird…

'So,' she… Baffle, though to herself, 'what now?'

Casper seemed to sense her uncertainty, and suggested, "Would you like to see the house? It's kinda silly for us all to be here on the balcony."

"Well…" she turned the thought over in her mind for a moment. "Would you mind terribly if I just spent a little time by my self?"

"Oh, that's okay," Casper agreed.

"Aw, but I wanted to be a tour guide," Fatso said, wearing for the moment, the guise of the aforementioned and slightly dreaded tour bus guide.

"The only thing you could give a tour of is the kitchen," Stinkie snickered.

"Boys she ain't goin' nowhere," Stretch said with a shrug. "She wants space, give the lady some space." He winked at her, and in a puff of mist was gone.

The two remaining brothers looked at each other, looked rather disappointedly at their guest, and disappeared as well.

Now Baffle felt slightly badly, after all, they were her hosts, and quite generous to offer their home to her , but she felt so utterly drained.

"So I guess that's my cue to leave too, huh," Casper asked with a shy smile.

Bad as she felt dismissing the Trio, she felt worse making Casper feel unwelcome.

"Well," she shrugged, "I don't know if I'll be very good company."

"Oh, that's okay," he smiled brightly, "I could show you your room."

"O-kay," she agreed hesitantly. Maybe take a nap and feel better afterwards, she certainly didn't feel at all sure of herself right now.

"Follow me," Casper urged gently, and she did so, drifting through the balcony door and into a bedroom where a lamp lay shattered on the floor. The scene sent a chill through her, the shiver of recognition, she felt dizzy.

Casper must have known something was wrong, for he turned and put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. "Are you okay?"

Baffle shook her head, trying to clear the haze from it, not a memory, but a suggestion of one, a feeling of absolute, stricken panic. "I'm not… this isn't my room, is it?" she asked, trying to shunt the irrational fear to the back of her mind.

Casper shook his head. "No."

"Oh," she breathed in reply. "Good.

"Come on," he said softly, leading her from the room.

The hallway was a little brighter than the room, and helped to chase the darkest of her thoughts away, for the moment.

"That's my uncles' room," he said, pointing at a door as they passed it, and further down the hall, to an open door. "You can have this one, is that alright?"

Baffle peered into the room, and found it simple, but much to her liking, the bed, with translucent green curtains that whispered in the breeze of the open window, seemed particularly inviting at the moment.

"Sure," she said, "thank you."

"Oh, don't thank me," Casper said modestly, "Thank my uncles. I'm actually surprised they're letting you stay."

"Oh?" she asked. "They don't seem o bad; a little weird maybe."

He smiled. "Trust me, weird is an understatement for my uncles."

Baffle laughed. "I'll take your word for it."

Casper laughed with her. It was nice to have a guest at the manor again, they didn't get them often, not since Cat had gone away to college and doctor Harvey had gotten an office in the city to practice conventional psychiatry again.

Baffle smiled and drifted past the doorway, when she lingered by the bed. "I think I'm going to take a nap, okay?"

"Go ahead," Casper, said, "I can't promise it'll stay quiet for long," he warned her, thinking of his uncles and their vociferous arguments.

"Don't worry about it, I can sleep through anything," she said, and then frowned. She felt like an amnesiac. She looked up, about to say something, and realized that Casper had already gone.

She sighed, her ginger-brown locks floating around her face, and she l leaned back against the bed pole, before collapsing back right through it and onto the actual bed. She stared up at the canopy trying to quiet the anxieties in her mind.

000

Stretch drummed his finger on the porcelain of a mug of coffee that he was not actually drinking, rather simply feeling the warmth of the hot liquid against his long, cold fingers. He was a specter known for scheming and contemplation, and as such, often fell into fits of brooding during which the both the rest of the Trio, and Casper knew better than to approach him. He wasn't in a bad mood, he just wanted everyone to think he was, so they wouldn't constantly be bothering him.

At the moment he was considering the lovely little ghoul who'd happened upon his demesnes, and what her, even temporary, introduction to the Whipstaff household might herald. Certainly, he grinned nastily, she was the prettiest spook who'd ever invaded the premises. Obviously her death had been fairly traumatic to knock the sense out of her so quick. Also meant, like most broads, she had a weak personality. His own death, there had been nothing namby-pamby about that event, and though he never spoke of it, unlike some he had never forgotten. The memory of blood and the stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils. His grip on the coffee mug became rather harsher.

All that, however, was in the past, completely and utterly irrelevant, got it? He chucked his coffee across the room where it bounced off the wall and fell to the floor, where it met the full fury of his piercing violet gaze.

A small sound caught his attention and he turned his head sharply and glared at Stinkie, who was floating in the doorway. "Whadaya want?" he snarled.

Stinkie held his hands up defensively. "Just passin' through! Sheez Stretch, what's got your vapor in a twist?"

"None a yer business," he sneered back.

"Fair 'nuff," Stinkie agreed, taking the safe route and not inquiring further. He had his suspicions of course, that it was the same thing that was occupying his own thoughts, the girl who had by some serendipity ended up at Whipstaff. He opened his mouth to say something further, when his attention was caught by an odd phenomenon. The chandelier that hung from the kitchen ceiling was seining back and forth.

Stretch had evidently noticed it as well, for he leveled his gaze at the younger spirit and demanded, "You doin' that?'

As if in answer, the pots and pas began to shake as well.

"Ain't me!" he replied truthfully.

"Fatsoooo!" Stretch shouted.

The corpulent spirit poked his head through the dinner table. "What's the ruckus?"

"That ain't you?" Stretch narrowed his eyes.

"I thought it was you two," Fatso said.

"Caaaaaaspeeer!" Stretch shrieked.

The smallest ghost appeared almost instantly, hanging back from the other three cautiously. "Yes Uncle Stretch?"

"What's all the comotion?"

"Uh, I don't know," he had of course, assumed it was one or more of his Uncles.

"Well, go find out," Stretch scowled, grabbing Casper, and slingshotting him out of the room, followed by cackling laughter.

To be continued…


	5. Chapter 5: Poltergeist Activity

Lost or Just Mislaid?

Chapter 5: Poltergeist Activity

Baffle's new room wasn't the first place Casper and Stretch checked for the source of the disruption, but it should have been. While the walls of the manor shook the lanky ghost floated still for a moment at the foot of the bed, almost in shock. Baffle had been resting on the bed but now was clearly gripped in what could only be described as some kind of seizure. Her eyes were wide open and blank, while her whole vaporous body shook and trembled.

"We gotta help her!" Casper exclaimed, flying over to her side. He had no idea what to do, but his action galvanized Stretch into action. He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her upright and shaking her vigorously.

Stretch muttered a curse as this did nothing to abate the shaking, either in the girl or in the house. By now he had a bigger audience too, both Stinkie and Fatso were in attendance.

What's wrong with her?" Fatso asked nonchalantly. Stinkie was just staring in apparent horror.

Unable to think of anything else to do to snap her out of it Stretch hauled back and slapped her hard in the face.

"Uncle Stretch!" He could feel Casper's outrage burning a hole in the back of his head, but the action had done its job. With one weak jerk Baffle's trembling subsided, along with Whipstaff's. Lucidity returned to her milky eyes. Then she started screaming,

Fatso just covered his ears and squinted, but both Stinkie and Casper decided now would be the best time to help, and rushed up to crowd her.

"Are you okay?"

"What's wrong?

"Don't worry, you're safe."

Stretch squeezed his eyes shut, patience wearing thin. Thankfully, whether through reassurance, or just screaming herself out, Baffle's shouts subsided to mere gasps.

Stretch turned his head around and growled "Can it!" to the miscellany in the room.

He wrenched his head back around to the girl. "You alright?"

She nodded weakly, a bit cowed by the anger in the tall ghost's eyes.

"Good. Then can I ask what in the name of holy mackerel that was all about?"

"I… I had a nightmare."

"Musta been some nightmare Baff," Stinkie said, a look of concern crossing his face.

She nodded again. "But, I can't remember…"

Stretch, suddenly aware that he was still holding her tightly by the shoulders asked, "You think you're gonna faint on us, or have another fit?"

"No, I think I'll be okay." She rubbed her neck, and took a few deep breaths as Stretch let her go.

She looked around the room. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you all."

"we're just glad you're okay," Casper said, speaking for his uncles in disregard for their possible actual opinions.

The Trio shared a look.

"Boooys!" Stretch announced, and they went into a huddle.

"Did you guys get a load of that racket?" Stretch whispered.

"Yeah, so?" asked Fatso.

"So? So?!" Stretch's eyes widened.

"So she shouldn't have the power to do that for like a hundred years fatso!" Stinkie explained. "Poltergeistin' an' movin' stuff around like that takes a lot outta ya. You can't do it fresh outta the dirt."

"Oh yeah, I forgot. Haha. But it's not like she did it on purpose, guys."

"That's the point, Fatso," Stretch said, a grin starting to form on his features, "she's gonna need a teacher. Or three."

A look of understanding dawned on Fatso.

000

It wasn't going so well.

Despite Casper's protests the Trio had sweet-talked Baffle and convinced her that what she really needed in order to forget her recent unpleasantness was a little bit of exercise and activity.

For the last hour they'd been trying to coach her into picking up objects. Just with her actual incorporeal hands for now; doing it at a distance was much harder. Unfortunately they hadn't met with much success. While she could manage to stabilize long enough to get her fingers around a solid object, she didn't have the strength to actually pick anything up, and the manor had been filled with a constant clangor of things hitting the floor.

Fatso had gotten bored with it first, and was now watching television in the other room. Stretch had kept at it out of sheer stubbornness, but it wore thin on his patience and he had left the scene in frustration, leaving only Stinkie stubbornly coaching Baffle in her attempts.

"I'm useless at this," Baffle said with a sigh.

"Nah, you'll get it," the cherubic-faced specter said encouragingly. "You just gotta, eh…" he paused trying once again to describe the process in a way that was remotely comprehensible. "Just feel your way through it; make your hands kinda heavy, ya know?"

"Not really." She ran a hand through her hair.

"Just try it one more time, yeah?" He proffered her the umbrella that they'd been using for practice.

She bit her lip. He made it look so easy. "One more time."

She reached out her pearly hand, and squeezed her eyes shit as she tried to take it from him.

'Concentrate,' she thought, 'Heavy, heavy, heavy. I can do this."

She snapped her eyes open again when she realized she could actually feel something solid staying in the palm of her hand. She was holding the umbrella.

Stinkie whistled and clapped. "See, what did I tell ya, huh? Huh? Hey guys, the girl's got it!"

They were quickly joined by the absent parties of the Trio.

"Aw, we knew you could do it!" Fatso slapped her roughly, but good naturedly on the back, and she stumbled forward, nearly losing her grip on the umbrella, but not quite.

Stretch rolled his eyes and waved his hands dismissively. "Yeah yeah, good job. She was bound to do it eventually."

"Yeah, you didn't seem to help none," Stinkie commented, sticking his tongue out obnoxiously.

"Watch where you put that thing," Stretch snapped, grabbing his tongue and pulling it forcefully.

"Mfff! Mnnf!"Stinkie flailed his arms.

The lean ghost let go and Stinkie's tongue snapped back and rolled up like a window-shade.

Baffle stared at then, once again in complete bafflement.

As Stinkie was adjusting his tongue, Fatso nudged them. "You guys are scaring her.."

Stretch squinted. "Yeah well that's what we do, ain't it?" He grinned rather proudly. "Maybe one day you'll be as good as it as we are." This last part he directed at Baffle herself.

"Can't be worse than Caaaaasper," Stinkie said.

She gave them a puzzled look, before remembering that they had mentioned scaring people earlier. Baffle wracked her brains and tried to summon up what she could remember about ghosts. It wasn't much, but scaring people did sound… right, if a little inelegant.

She nodded. "Okay. That sounds like a, uh, interesting line of work. Is it… profitable?"

The three of them shared a look.

"Well, kinda," Fatso admitted.

"It's really more about the artistry, see?" Stinkie explained.

"Oh, like performance art. That's sorta cool."

"Cool? Cool?" Stretch demanded, "Sweetheart you don't know anything about it. Yet."

This statement, or perhaps promise, was accompanied but another wicked grin. Baffle felt a bit intimidated.

"Yeah, we're going to teach you," Stinkie said, "Gotta know how to scare some fleshies."

"Unless you're Caaaasper," Fatso made a face.

"Casper doesn't scare people?" Baffle asked.

"Ha! You can say that again," Stretch laughed mockingly.

No one spoke. Baffle felt all eyes on her.

"Um, Casper doesn't scare people?"

"Not a chance."

"He couldn't scare a fly," Stikie said.

"He couldn't scare a fly," Stretch said.

"He couldn't scare a scaredy cat," Fatso said.

"He's hopeless," they intoned together.

"Well, that's kinda sad." Baffle wasn't sure she was understanding the whole conversation; but it sounded like a bad thing.

"It's pathetic," Stretch declared, "Short-sheet's a waste of vapour. Think you can do better?" He snapped his gaze to lock eyes with her bright blue orbs.

"I… can try," she said, with little confidence, "I mean, I'm sure you guys can show me how."

"Damn right we can. Me and the boys, we're the spook masters. Ain't no ghost better at scaring bone-bags than the three of us. We're The Fear front runners."

"The Chilling-champions," Stinkie added.

"We are the chaaaampions," Fatso began to sing. A quick glare from the other two shut him up. "What? I like Queen."

"Wow," Baffle was actually sort of impressed. They seemed confident in themselves if nothing else, and confidence was something she was still heavily lacking, even with her grip around the umbrella. "So, when are you going to show me?"

"Ehhhh," Stretch looked out the window, "It's still a while til the sun goes down."

"You can't go out during the day?"

"We can," Stinkie explained, "It's just not…"

"Thematically appropriate," said Fatso.

"Oh, I see." It did seem like it would be harder to scare people in broad daylight.

Stretch pursed his lips in contemplation. "Why don't you go get some rest or something, Baff. The boys and I'll take care of sorting out the evening's entertainment."

She nodded, unsure of what she was going to do with the time. Not try to sleep again, that was for sure.

She started to drift away from the Trio, who were entering another huddle. As she did, she heard Stinkie call out to her.

"You can put down the umbrella now, ya know," he teased.

She flushed with embarrassment. "Uh, right."

She kept ahold of it anyway.

000

Baffle drifted around the manor aimlessly, feeling a bit like a trespasser as she did so; even though she had an invitation, and nowhere else to go, really. She wandered through the kitchen, and through disused closets and a bedroom or two.

She really felt like an intruder when she accidentally came upon Casper, idly tossing a baseball and catching it, in what she presumed was his own room.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she said, starting to back away through the door.

"No, it's okay!" Casper said quickly, "Come on in." He smiled welcoming, and through sheepish, she stayed in the room. "I hope my uncles weren't too hard on you," he said with concern.

She shook her head, her mass of hair falling around her pale shoulders. "No, they were okay. Really helpful, actually. But they're uh, really loud." She smiled weakly,

"That's the Ghostly Trio for you," he sighed. "They're not very nice."

Baffle furrowed her brow, "They were nice to me.."

Casper laughed a little bitterly, "Well, I guess there's a first time for everything."

"They said they were going to take me out with them later."

"Scaring?" asked Casper suspiciously.

She nodded.

"You know you don't have to go if you don't want."

"It sounds kind of interesting, actually. And I don't want to offend them."

"Trust me, the Ghostly Trio? They're they offensive ones."

She shrugged. Maybe they were a bit obnoxious, but Casper seemed kinda pessimistic in comparison.

"Well, I have some time to kill," she said, "Is there anything to do around here?"

With the opportunity to help, Casper perked up. "Have you seen the library yet?"

She shook her head. "That sounds perfect." She smiled.

Casper skipped off his bed and grabbed her wrist. "Come on, I'll show you."

He led her down through the floors (Baffle still hadn't quite gotten used to moving through walls and ceilings, it was weird. Floating was weird too…) and into a huge room at the back of the manor. There were shelves full of books all arranged in neat rows, a couple of desks and couches to read at, and one huge bay window with a padded window seat. It was the friendliest room Baffle had seen in the house.

"There's plenty of stuff to read," Casper said. "My uncles don't come in here very often."

She nodded. "You mind if I have a look around?"

"Not at all."

Baffle drifted from shelf to shelf, inspecting the books. Because she could fly, she could reach even the ones of the top shelf, which was nice. Though she couldn't remember much, it seemed like this was not something that living people could do.

While normally many of the books would have fascinated her, she was listless and couldn't decide on one. Finally she simply arranged herself at one of the desks, which already had a book on it, sitting open and covered with dust.

Concentrating, she lifted the cover of the book, and peered at the title.

"A History of Whipstaff Manor."

To be continued…


End file.
